


Homecoming

by ggfoye



Series: Feysand One-Shots (Fluff, Smut, Angst) [8]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Book 3: A Court of Wings and Ruin, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Feyre, One Shot, Protective Rhysand, Sickfic, Tamlin The Tool, Territorial Rhysand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26675857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ggfoye/pseuds/ggfoye
Summary: Feyre returns from the Spring Court in terrible shape and Rhysand becomes an overbearing bodyguard as he nurses her back to health.One-Shot. Set during ACOWAR.I do not own any of the characters, Sarah J. Maas does.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: Feysand One-Shots (Fluff, Smut, Angst) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1942270
Comments: 13
Kudos: 157





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JiangxiRose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiangxiRose/gifts).



Feyre looked at the twins collapsed on the floor once more, then shot a warning glance at Lucien, as if telling him _shut up._

She'd managed to get a word out to Rhys through the bond before her magic started spilling out of her uncontrollably. Her powers were almost completely worn out now, and she could already hear Tamlin and his sentinels running in that direction. It wouldn't be long before they found her there.

So she started running. Rushing to the portals on the hills that would take her to other courts. At that point, even the Summer Court might be more welcoming to her, blood rubies and all. She prayed Rhys had gotten the message, but with them being so far away and her magic running low, she knew even if it did arrive, it might take a while.

And then she heard a voice behind her. She'd heard that tone of his before. It was the one that promised fury, lack of self-control, rage. She wouldn't want to be anywhere around it when it hit him, especially drained of her powers.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Feyre focused every shred of energy and remaining strength on putting one foot in front of the other. She might make it. Just a few more miles north, and she'd get there. She'd find somewhere to hide and recover until she could reach out to Rhys.

"Snatch and grab her," she heard, not far from her.

Tamlin must've thought she'd had a mental breakdown or something. His first thought would not be that she'd betrayed them. But it would catch up to him eventually. And she needed to be as far away as possible when that happened. Vulnerable as she was, she didn't know what he might do to her.

But she'd sent out word.

Everything would be fine.

A gush of magic, powerful, ancient magic, caught up to her like a breeze soaring through the skies. And she realized—Tamlin had shapeshifted. Now he'd be more than able to track her and reach her. Her scent would be all over the place now, with her unable to glamour it for too long.

Her legs were threatening to give out. Her lungs were overburdened, and her muscles were burning. Whatever poison they'd given her, it was wearing her down completely.

 _Rhys Rhys Rhys_. She screamed down the silent unreachable bond.

"Lady Feyre!", one of Tamlin's sentinels yelled behind her.

If he was closing in, then Tamlin wouldn't be so far behind—

A sharp, piercing pain hit her calf, making her tumble down. Before she could even hit the ground, a massive weight slammed onto her back, forcing her spine to angle forward so abruptly the shock that spread through her bones was agonizing. Feyre fell sliding over the grass and some loose branches, hurting and scratching all over her face and exposed arms. Her head hit a tree and the staggering pain made her vision darken for a few seconds.

Feyre looked around, confused and appalled. That familiar giant horned wolf stood before her, holding a cautious defensive position, even though his eyes gleamed in despair. She followed them and glanced at her calf—an arrow.

On the inside, she was fuming. She wanted him dead. She didn't care how badly and desperately she'd once loved him—she wouldn't mind burning him to ashes right then and there. She'd do it in a blink, and she'd enjoy it. But there wasn't even a flicker of power inside her.

Her eyes were filled with tears of anger and pain, but seeing his sentinels approaching, forming a reluctant semicircle around them, she embraced her part again. And she let the tears run free.

"You attacked me! You had me _shot_!", she shouted at him, her voice breaking in whines, laced with complete disbelief.

She tried sitting up, and she didn't have to fake her incapacity and lack of strength to do so—the world around her was spinning. There were some dark spots blurring her vision—blood, she realized, practically covering her left iris. Reaching the back of her head, she noticed how much of it there was, soaking her hair and staining her hand. Her shock and pain were easily believable, because they were real.

Tamlin had done this to her.

And his sentinels weren't having it, watching the scene horrified.

He'd now shapeshifted back to his fae form and ran to her. She flinched involuntarily, and he halted a few steps away from her, raising his hands as if he were approaching a wild animal. The sight made her blood boil in her veins.

"Feyre, I'm so sorry! I thought you'd killed Dagdan and Branagh and were trying to escape. I see now how stupid that sounds. I'm sorry, let me help you...“

" _Get away_ from me!", Feyre cried out, "They tried to _kill_ me and you weren't even there to protect me! And now you hurt me! Oh gods, what did you _do_?", she yelled, looking at her bloodied hands.

"Let me help you..."

"No! Don't touch me!", she crawled back, feeling suddenly extremely weakened as her voice made clear, coming out quiet and airy. "How could you do this to me?"

"Feyre, please...", he pleaded, his eyes filled with hurt. It only made her hate him more. "At least let me pull this arrow out of you and I'll get you a healer, alright?"

Tamlin approached very slowly, indicating every movement he was going to make before making it. She didn't object. That arrow was twinging, spreading burning ice strands to her legs and sending spasms all over her already trembling body.

She screamed when he took it out, straight and quick. He looked at the arrowhead, suddenly petrified. Faebane, she smelled. Those were laced with venom.

"Where did you get this arrow?!", he shouted at one of the guards.

"The—the bag. Hybern's nephews bag," the male stuttered, his eyes widened.

"And why the _hell_ would you do that?"

"Tamlin, stop," Feyre murmured, her eyes closing in exhaustion.

"Feyre, darling, I'll go get the healer, okay? Stay still."

Her eyes shot straight opened, looking daggers at Tamlin. _Feyre, darling_ , he'd called her. She forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. It would do her no good to try and attack him in that moment, especially so enfeebled.

"Okay,” she said through her teeth.

As soon as he disappeared into the woods, leaving behind only a few sentinels to look after her, her head tilted softly down to a large tree root, and the world faded away into nothingness.

At first, she heard only some quiet growls. The sound of swords being pulled. A few muffled screams. And then nothing. Complete silence as she felt a pair of arms slide carefully under her.

She tried to react, startled by the sudden touch, but her head was too heavy, her vision too blurry. Her limbs were unresponsive. Internally panicking, she forced herself to identify the soothing voice that spoke to her. But there was nothing, just a glance of lips moving—blood. There was blood in her ears too, she realized.

But those lips—she knew them. And as her head toppled down to that male's chest, she recognized the familiar scent.

Home.

He smelled like home.

Feyre heaved a sigh of relief and didn't fight the peaceful darkness that began to wash over her.

_You came._

———

"Calm down, Rhysand. She'll be fine. Look at her bruises, they're almost completely gone."

Amren, Feyre recognized. The first sound she’d been able to acknowledge in a long time.

"Then _why_ isn't she waking up?", he snapped, wearing a tone he didn't usually resort to, especially towards Amren. He was nervous—barely holding it together, if his voice was any indication.

Feyre wanted to open her eyes. Calm him down, put his mind at ease. But it was so _hard_. It felt like the effort of it would drain every last bit of strength she'd gathered in the last few days—or was it weeks? She had no idea. She tried to move her hand, but by the lack of commotion or reaction in the room, she figured she hadn't accomplished much.

"Her magic was almost completely gone. She was severely injured, and without her healing powers, her recovery process slowed down almost to a human level. She will be alright, she just needs some time to rest. Her body's been through a lot."

Rhys sighed, resigned. He knew Amren was being reasonable, but every second that Feyre spent unconscious he remained in pure agony and panic. Which had already lasted 13 days, 7 hours and 28 minutes so far.

She heard the sound of a chair being dragged, then glass crashing on the floor. Then a very familiar feeling hovered around her—Rhys' darkness. The one that would usually flow out of him when he was mad or exasperated. She bet if she could open her eyes she'd see the shade of his wings taking form.

"I should've never agreed to this. I should've never let him take her. I don't care if it starts a civil war,"— another glass breaking—"I'm going to _kill_ him. Court of Nightmares style. And I'm gonna enjoy every second of it."

"Rhys...", Mor began, " _Breathe_. You need to eat something. And you also need to sleep. I haven't seen you do either since you brought her back. You're a zombie. All I see is you hovering around this bed like she's going to disappear. We're here to help you. Go to the townhouse, take a bath, rest for a while. We'll take care of her. She's fine. She's safe now."

Rhys let out a desperate humorless laugh. "I don't need a _bath_ , Mor. What I need is for my mate to wake up! What I need is to march down the Spring Court and kill that bastard with my own...", he stopped himself and exhaled heavily, "Look at what he _did_ to her, someone he claims to love! Can you honestly look at her and tell me she's _fine_?"

Feyre didn't know what he meant by that, but she could very well still feel the extent of her injuries. Although she was feeling much better, there was still an annoying, persistent headache lingering about, and her power well still seemed shallow, if not dry. Whatever those twins had given her was strong and not quick to wear out.

But now that she was home, that wasn't her main concern anymore...

Most of the time, she shared Rhysand's hatred for Tamlin—even fed it, to be honest. But in that moment, hearing him so angry and disgruntled, all she wanted was for him to completely forget about her ex-fiancé's existence. He didn't deserve one minute of Rhys' life worrying about him.

She could feel her mate's tension and overwhelming concern for her down the bond; and she knew that her being so vulnerable must have been hard not only on him, but on everyone around him, due to whatever primal mating bond territorial quality that would take over him in these kinds of situations.

She _wanted_ to wake up—she wanted to tell him that she'd be alright, that he should go care for himself, because she, too, couldn't stand to see him so anguished.So after hearing the desperation in his voice, Feyre decided to try out their bond.

Rhys had only been able to feel some emotions and bodily sensations so far, which was one of the reasons why he was still so on edge about her physical state. Her mind had been completely shut down.

 _Rhys_.

The reaction was instantaneous. His hands were on her face, his breathing was heavy and close to her.

"Feyre! Feyre, darling, I'm here. You're safe. You're in the Night Court."

She'd realized that a few days before, but hearing it out loud still took the strain off her chest.

 _I love you_ —Of all the things she had to say, that was the most urgent one.

Those months in the Spring Court had been brutal, both emotionally and now physically. But the worst part had been how terribly she'd missed him.

"I love you, too, my love," he said, relief pouring out from his shaky voice. "Can you wake up? What's wrong?"

_My head hurts. It feels too heavy to allow me to awaken. But I'm fine. I just need to rest for a while._

"Alright," he said, much calmer now. She could hear three different sighs of relief in the room aside from his. "I'll be here with you. I'm not leaving your side, okay? You can rest now."

"Mother hen," Feyre heard Cassian's voice, followed by Rhys' snarl.

 _Illyrian babies_. She tried upturning her lips a bit as she said it through the bond, and by the way Rhysand's fingers touched the corner of her mouth, it must've worked. His hoarse, quiet chuckle warmed her heart.

"Welcome back, Feyre," Cassian's warm voice said, closer to her now. The bond went taut with tension, but Rhys was able to control himself this time.

Then there was a kiss on the back of her hand, given by cold full lips. "Hi, Feyre," Mor whispered, her tone a bit strangled, like her throat was dry.

"Why is it that every time you make an entrance arriving on the Night Court, you look like you're dying?", Amren asked. Feyre laughed mentally, so Rhys told her so. "Don't worry, girl. If that tool ever comes close to you again, I'll rip him to shreds. That little fox will have to scrub him off the floor," she said on a more serious note that sent shivers down Feyre's spine. But Feyre smiled back wickedly, and thought that Amren probably saw it, given her humored snort short after.

 _Rhys, go eat something_ , Feyre said as soon as she remembered Mor's words.

"I'm alright, my love. I'm not going anywhere."

_Then have someone bring food here._

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes, he is, Feyre," Mor said, "He hasn't eaten since yesterday morning and it's already past midday."

_Rhysand. If you don't go eat something right now, I swear by the Cauldron..._

"Okay, okay!," he obliged, "I'll ask Nuala and Cerridwen to bring me something here. Satisfied?"

_No. You also need to sleep._

Rhys groaned.

"I know this is an exceptional situation and all, but you two have no idea how annoying it is to sit by watching you two gossiping in each other's minds," Cassian complained.

_Tell Cassian to butt off._

"She's telling you to butt off," Rhys muttered.

"I've missed you too, Feyre. And trust me, I wish I could butt off. But since we're now already throwing Rhys to the sharks...", Rhys growled, "He's in no better shape than you are, given his stubbornness and refusal to do anything but coddle a corpse—no offense to you, Feyre—and sit on his ass here all day like an overbearing fusspot. And he's chased away all male guards I've sent to watch over you both, so I'm the only one left who's crazy enough to stick around while he practically cocoons you out of everyone's sight."

_Rhysand!_

"Thanks a lot, Cassian," Rhys grunted.

"You're welcome, High Lord," he replied on a mocking tone.

_After you eat, ask Cassian to guard by the door and lie down here with me. You need to sleep and I need you. So... will you hold me while I rest?_

"You're vicious, Feyre, darling. Don't think I don't know what you're doing."

_So, you're going to deny your very ill mate who missed you terribly for the last months the simple pleasure of having you cuddle her while she sleeps?_

"Cruel, beautiful thing," he kissed her cheek, then caressed it, "I would do no such thing," he said tenderly, then turned to someone else. "Have Nuala and Cerridwen bring some soup over, please. Cas, you can watch by the door. I'm taking a nap here."

"Even _unconscious_ Feyre manages to get through to you more easily than us. Two minutes in your head and she has you doing what we've been begging you for weeks," Mor grunted, shaking her head. "For the sake of this realm and my sanity, Feyre, you need to get well soon."

And so they left, leaving the couple to nurse each other.

Rhys held her all day, and then the rest of the night too. His friends were right, he hadn't slept in days. And so he wrapped his wings around his mate and let his mind wander off to hers, where she painted him beautiful and colorful dreams, in hopes that it would distract him enough from his overprotective instincts and let him rest for a while.

They were finally together. Lying entangled in the peaceful darkness, they could finally breathe again after months. And all else could wait, because everything fell back into place in the universe when they held each other. And they both sensed that the world would've stopped for them if it could, if only so that that moment could last forever for a few seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! comments are kudos are welcomed :)


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